Big Fan
by The Fresh Prince of Gotham
Summary: Widowmaker is on a job, when she meets a big fan.


"No sign just yet." A low value mark, sure, one usually not worth her time but with Overwatch seeping into the cracks, funds had become a bit tight for Talon and they were short on rent. She would use the inheritance but that is traceable money and they cannot use traceable money to buy resources lest Overwatch descend on them in an instant. Widowmaker, formerly Amélie Lacroix, formerly Amélie Guillard, was posted on the rooftop of a high rise residential complex. Wind speed even, temperature cool (not that it bothered her, but not being able to feel heat or chill made judging it a game to keep her occupied while she waited for that golden opportunity), an available field of vision that stretched a beautiful 150° and a beautifully lit starry night, gently accented by the soft blue glow of the dim city lights at night time. All perfect conditions for even the worst of snipers - which she most assuredly was not. Still, it made her job easier. She could fire then get away without much hassle.

 _-click-_

Amélie spun to greet the intruder. How the hell could she miss them? She hated getting up close and personal but sh- oh. The rooftop access door opened to reveal a young girl maybe 8 or 9, dressed in jeans and a pink logo hoodie and a possible witness to an assassination. On top of that, Amélie had her emotions suppressed but not turned off completely. She had to get this girl out of here before she went ahead and murdered somebody. She had no desire to give her that memory. She was fine with murder, but she was tailor made to not feel empathy. This was a child. The girl assumed a quizzical expression. "Don't I know you from somewhere?"  
"I assure you that you do not. You shouldn't be here, it's... Dangerous." The girl furrowed her brow. "It's a pretty big rooftop. I think if I stay in the middle I'll be okay. There's room enough for both of us."  
"Oui." said Widowmaker, despairingly. The girl wrinkled up her nose in disgust. "Gross."  
"No, oui, it- I'm France- I'm from France. Look-"

"What's that?"

 _'It's a gun, ma petit chérie, and while I am not fond of killing children, you make it tempting.'_

"It's, uh-"

"Can I play with it?" Amélie smacked the hand that went for her gun. " ** _SACREBLEU, NON! ÊTES-VOUS FOU?!_** " To her credit, the little girl did not cry, but instead simply walked off into the corner. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Amélie sighed. "Please leave." The girl did not face her. "Why? I live here. You don't." _'Fair point._ ' Finally turning, she continued, an obviously pained expression on her face. "You're doing something bad aren't you?" Widowmaker nodded. "Is it to someone bad?" Amélie bobbed her head in a kind of "ehh, sorta" movement. "Then I guess it's OK, even if I don't quite agree with it. Do you want to come and watch the stars with me?" Throwing her hands up, Amélie cried "Mon dieu, do the questions never cease?" In a pink blur, the girl appeared in front of Amélie in a rush of excitement. "Do that again!" Amélie stared blankly. "With your arms, but slowly!" She gave a look of bewilderment but complied nonetheless, raising her arms as if exasperated in a slow, measured movement. "I do know you!" the girl squealed. "You really don-" "Yeah! You're Amélie Guillard! I saw your ballet performance once when I was very young, I'm such a big fan!" The girl took her hand as she rambled. "You moved me, honestly. You were so beautiful on that stage, very graceful. I want to be a ballet dancer like you when I get older! Why did you stop dancing? I heard you died or something but I thought it wasn't true. Your hands are very cold. Is that why you're blue? Do you want a blanket? I can get you a blanket if you're cold."

For the first time in years, Amélie Lacroix was overcome with emotion. "Ma chérie, come this way." Amélie led the girl to the railing overlooking the street and placed the girl's hand on the bar then did the same. "Now," she asserted, placing both her feet together at 90° angles, "can you do this?"

"I can try..."

"That's very good for a first go, très bien fait. More this way. Good. This is called the first position. Now, shift your feet apart like this into second position…" And so it went, Widowmaker, world's greatest sniper, teaching a little girl ballet. They both stumbled a lot, the girl being a brand new dancer and Amélie being mostly used to killing, but they both settled into their roles with relative ease and soon they were practising sets in smooth synchronisation. They were lying on the rooftop looking up at the stars with the girl curled up in Amélie's arms when a noise in the distance, easily missed by an untrained ear caught Widowmaker's attention. "Come now little one, I will show you something you may be able to use when you are older." Amélie took her Widow's Kiss from the wall. "Fetch me my case would you, ma chérie? Merci beaucoup." The girl beamed up at the sniper. "I love your voice. French is such a beautiful language; I'd love to learn it someday."

"Oh? Well, if you do well in your ballet studies, I could teach you a few phrases." She sat cross-legged on the ground, slid the rifle case towards her, and picked out a transparent bullet with what looked like circuitry inside and a claw on the end. Loading the bullet, she handed the girl the gun, which triggered a very negative response. Falling to the ground and crawling back, she said in a strangled whisper "H-hey! Woah I don't want to… you know…" Amélie nodded grimly. "And I hope you never have to. But this is a tracking bullet. You don't aim it at people, you aim it at things and even if you did aim it at someone, it would only give them a nasty cut. Here…" Amélie gently placed the rifle in her hands, soothing her and making sure she was positioned right. "Now, look through the scope. You see that silvery van in that alley?" The girl nodded. "They're loading something into the back."

"When they shut the back door, I want you shoot that tracking bullet into the van. Just look at the door."

"Just into the door?"

"Right."

"Okay."

"Breathe in. Hold your breath. Fire. Exhale." A few moments of silence passed then the girl squeezed the trigger and a soft zapping like noise emerged from the rifle. "I hit it!" Amélie nodded proudly and took the rifle back, dismantling it and putting it back in the case. "Now, whenever you go to the carnival, you can win whatever prize you want at the rifle range." Slinging the case over her shoulder she felt a pressure on her leg. On further investigation, said leg was ensnared by the little girl's arms. "Don't go!" she pleaded. Amélie gave her a look then opened up her rifle case and handed her the scope. "I have spares. If you want, I can return and give you more ballet lessons." The girl drooped her head. "I've always wanted to… but my parents… they can't afford it…" She started to cry. Amélie would sooner put her rifle in her mouth and pull the trigger than say her emotions were suppressed in this instant. She tilted the girl's chin up and wiped her tears. "Then it is a good thing I am wealthy, and I need no payment." She kissed the girl's head, gave her a hug and grappled away.

She stood on that rooftop until dawn, playing with the scope.

 **A/N: Despite her many, many qualities that would absolutely make her a bad parent, I reckon Widowmaker could be a good mother, if she met the right person.**


End file.
